“Primed.” West shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping. “So one day I’d grow up feeling so desperate and worthless, I wouldn’t even question it when they sold me off to the Archmage. To their fucking demon pet.”
“Apparently, she was playing the long game,” I say. “Which makes sense. Whatever their plans are with Zorakkov, that couldn’t have come together overnight.”
“Those boys attacked me when I was in middle school. Middle school! So Eloise already knew me at least, what, seven years before she supposedly met my dad?”
“Longer than that, I’m afraid.” I grab my tablet and pull up the records on Hunter’s hospital treatments, giving her a refresher. “There’s a very good chance Eloise was involved with that, even though she worked in pediatrics at the time. And a very good chance she knew exactly who you were, and exactly what she and the shadow magic society could use you for.”
Her face pales, her eyes wide with new fright. “Guys. What if… what if she killed my mother?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ROOK
“You said your mom died giving birth to you,” Auggie says.
“Yeah, that’s what my dad told me. But he never wanted to talk about it. I don’t know anything about the circumstances—did she bleed out? Was it something else?”
“The hospital records we found showed complications from childbirth as the cause of death,” I say. “I haven’t been able to find any autopsy records or official death certificate, but I’m still digging.”
Auggie drains his latte, then says, “Look. It’s pretty clear Eloise has been pulling the strings on some kind of bullshit dark mage plot for alongtime. We’re going to bust that plot wide open—every fucking detail, every summoning spell, every fucking shadow magic cocksucker involved. But we need to do this methodically, witchling. Rook’s way. No jumping to conclusions and freaking out before we’ve got proof.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” I grin at him across the table, raising my mug in cheers. Then, to West, I say, “We don’t know if Eloise plotted against your mother, or was just in the right place at the right time to take advantage of a newborn witch without magic and a newly grieving single father. All we know is what Pomeroy confessed—Eloise hired them to torment and bully you in some sort of bid to make you more docile. He speculated this was for the eventual demon binding, but again, even that’s unproven until we get more intel.”
“Intel wecouldget,” she says with another sigh, “if Draegan would let me contact Eloise or my father.”
“Which he won’t,” Auggie says, “and neither will we, so put it out of your head right now. We’ll find another way. Jude and Draegan are already following up on the intel we got on Metal, so it’s only a matter of time.”
West nods, but her eyes are far away, her half-finished latte going cold on the table.
“Speaking of leads,” Auggie says, getting to his feet, “Will you two be okay without me for a bit?”
“Why, where you off to?” I ask.
“Darkroom. I need to get started on the film rolls from last night—see if there’s anything else we might’ve missed.”
“Like my spooky dark-fae rune art?” West tries to laugh, but it sputters out fast. “Goddess, it’s all still such a blur.”
He puts his hands on her shoulders, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll figure it out, witchling. This is just one more step in the process, okay? Rook can look at the pictures and give us a new perspective.”
“Once we’ve got the photos,” I say, “I can run them through a few programs to compare them with the fae literature we’ve got, see if we can start to piece together the meaning. Fae or not, runes are a form of language, and language can be translated.”
West nods, her shoulders relaxing a bit.
“You good?” Auggie asks, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.
West looks at me across the table and smiles—a question. I smile back—an answer.
“We’re good,” West says.
“Okay.” Auggie points at me. “Holler if you make any earth-shattering discoveries and/or either of you are overcome with the sudden, inexplicable need to get naked.”
“You’ll be the first to know,” I say. “On both counts.”
He leans down one more time, tilting her head back to press the softest kiss to her lips, lingering just long enough to make me wish we could all blow off the rest of the night and just… yeah. Be overcome with the sudden, inexplicable need to get naked.
West must be thinking something along the same lines, because the scent of her desire floods the room, and Auggie laughs.
“Careful, witchling,” he teases. “Keep thinking thoughts like that, and you’ll screw up Rook’s concentration.”
